


i'm half-doomed and you're semi-sweet

by wishfulfiction



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Baker!Harry, Civilian!Harry, Civilian!Merlin, Kingsman!Eggsy, M/M, Meet-Cute
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-18
Updated: 2018-11-12
Packaged: 2018-12-01 01:01:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11475315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wishfulfiction/pseuds/wishfulfiction
Summary: Harry considered himself a bit of a risk taker, but even he wouldn't have bet that Bespoke would have done as well as it had in the first month.Maybe it was the proximity to Piccadilly Circus, or Savile Row (“Or you're bloody talented and people are realizing that,” Merlin had interjected one night, long after closing, looking at Harry over his laptop with an exasperated look.) Harry already had hired two employees prior to opening, but had to hire one more after the spike in business left them swamped beyond belief.And Harry washappy.---Or; the AU in which Harry's decided to open his own cafe and bakery and Eggsy's an up-and-coming Kingsman agent with a caffeine addiction and a sweet tooth.





	1. Chapter 1

It started with the words, “I've finally done it,” said as Harry had breezed into Merlin’s office, sitting in one of the chairs opposite Merlin’s desk. He crosses his right leg casually over his left in a vain attempt to conceal the nerves bubbling beneath the surface.

Merlin raises an eyebrow at him, phone cradled between his shoulder and ear, mouths _Don't you knock_? and rolling his eyes when Harry shrugs, looking down and running his hand over his trouser leg to smooth non-existent wrinkles. He can hear Merlin make a few assenting noises before, “That's fine, send me the requirements by this Thursday and I'll have my team make some mock-ups.”

The sound of the phone being rest against the cradle startles Harry into looking back up, Merlin typing what Harry can only assume are meticulously organized notes from the phone call. Merlin looks up, raising one hand and gesturing. “Come on, what have you done?”

Harry must have only hesitated for a second, but it's enough to make Merlin shut his laptop and lean forward slightly. “Oh, Harry. Don't tell me, you've finally misappropriated company resources, called Mary Berry, and asked her to return to Bake Off.”

Merlin actually laughs at the expression on Harry’s face, three-parts aghast and one-part scandalized. “I don't blame you, it's not the same without her.”

“It's not that,” Harry replies, jaw tense slightly in apprehension. “While _yes_ , it's hardly the same, I'm disappointed you think I'd misuse company resources like that.”

“If I remember correctly, you once lifted the mobile number of a client so you could ask them to dinner,” Merlin retorts, smirk tugging at his lips when he sees Harry color slightly.

Harry huffs, shifting in his chair and leaning back in a more comfortable position. “If you're quite done bringing up events from nearly two decades ago…”

“Oh, I don't think the Statute of Limitations has quite run on that yet,” Merlin says, matching Harry’s own position in his chair. “What have you done then, Harry?”

“I - well, I've just signed a lease actually, finished everything this morning.”

“A lease,” Merlin prompts, eyebrow raised slightly. “Are you leaving the Mews? I could barely convince you to come into work for a week after you bought it because you were too bloody enamored by that place.”

Harry shakes his head, “No, I think you'll have to eventually drag me out of there before I leave voluntarily. It took ages to get everything right.”

“Okay, then…” Merlin starts, eyebrow raised slightly. “You've signed a lease to open what? A bed-and-breakfast? A _sex shop_? Harry, you devilish little…”

“Merlin,” Harry says, shifting in his chair and looking as exasperated as he was probably capable of looking, “as hilarious as you're being, you know what I'm talking about. I took your advice, got that spot near Piccadilly Circus you had that realtor show me months ago.”

It takes a moment but Merlin breaks into a wide grin, slamming a hand down on the desk loud enough that Harry jumps slightly in his chair. “The bakery!” Harry nods in agreement, a smile on his lips at the sheer glee on Merlin’s face. “In that case, you're fired.”

Harry doesn't even have time to protest before Merlin’s phone rings - once, twice, before he answers, the faint sound of his assistant’s voice clear enough in the silence in the room.

“No, no, nothing’s wrong. If you could draft up an internal memo regarding an opening for CFO and distribute it company-wide - Harry's just finally gotten his shit together.”

There's another faint response, and Merlin grins, “Will do.”

He hangs up the phone and Harry raises an eyebrow in question. “All that Gwen asks is for an invite to the opening and a pastry in her honor.”

Harry laughed, smile tugging at his lips. “If that's all that's required of me, I shall be happy to oblige. But you don't need to fire me, I was here to tender my resignation.”

“And I'm firing you so you get a severance package large enough to help you in your inevitable rough first months of start-up business ownership,” Merlin replies, waving away the look he gets from Harry. “Don't be ridiculous, you helped me get Avalon off the ground and have been faithful to the company since its inception. It's the least I could do.”

Harry’s heart can't help but warm at the gesture. Working with Merlin for the past twenty plus years had been nothing short of extraordinary. They were fresh out of university when Merlin had first proposed the idea of creating Avalon, drinking over pints of Guinness. Harry had not-so jokingly told him he'd join in, not keen on going back home and facing the incessant questions that had already plagued his mother’s letters to him. Harry had taken the small amount he'd received from his trust fund that hadn't already gone to university and agreed to invest it in Merlin’s idea.

“You spoil me, Merlin.”

“Only because you're going to spoil me in return, Hart. If you don't think I'm stopping by regularly you're sorely mistaken.”

Harry grins, standing up from his chair feeling about ten times more confident than when he came in. “I wouldn't expect anything less.”

 

* * *

 

Harry wasn't a perfectionist. He just knew what he liked.

Or that's at least what he told himself as he moved a coffee table for the fourth time that afternoon. He'd spent the last two weeks completely renovating the space and with two days to go before opening, he was getting every last little detail of the space perfect.

He'd opted to keep the natural wooden floors, worn over time in a way that gave the space a soft, glowing warmth. He'd kept the walls neutral, opting instead for paintings he'd sourced over the course of his lifetime but that were otherwise cluttering the walls of his own home. Bookcases were erected along one wall, boxes of books he'd bought bought in bulk from the thrift store opened and waiting to be unpacked. He'd gotten a variety of tables, all sturdy dark wood, with comfortable chairs to match. His favorite were the two worn armchairs that he'd inherited at his father’s death, full of mostly-fond memories of sneaking into the library at night when he was young just to pull down a book and curl up in the chair, reading until the early morning.

Harry shakes himself out of his thoughts, appraising the coffee table’s location, squared between the two armchairs. It would have to do, there was only so much he was capable of doing.

He loosens his tie, sleeves already rolled up to the elbow and jacket long discarded on the back of one of the chairs, moving away from the table before he decides to change his mind again. Instead, he strides across the ship, moving around the large counter he'd had installed and swinging the door forward to enter the kitchen.

Long after deliveries had stopped and he had worked himself to the point of exhaustion, Harry had also spent the majority of the nights in the kitchen. Harry already had a collection of recipes - mainly ones of his own creation, but others he had taken from his mother's own recipe book, tweaked and perfected until he was happy with adding them to his ever-expanding rotation of baked goods.

Over the past two weeks, Harry had tried about ten new recipes for different pastries. He had started a new scone recipe last night but had given up when his vision had become blurry even with his glasses and had instead gone upstairs to what was basically going to be his office and break room, crashing on the small couch he had brought from home and convinced two very kind deliverymen to help move up.

He picks up his notes, frowning and scratching out some of the ingredients. He feels his phone buzz in his trousers, putting down the pen and fishing in his pocket for his phone. A text notification appears on his screen.

_I finished work early. Can I come and see the place?_

Harry looks to the clock on the wall, minute hand just reaching 9:15pm.

_Finished early? Have you seen the time?_

Harry sets his phone on the metal table in the middle of the kitchen, moving over to the refrigerator and picking out a few ingredients he had picked up at Borough Market that morning. He comes back and his phone screen has lit up once more.

_Like I said, I finished early. I'll be over shortly._

Harry hums, deciding not to respond. If there's one thing he's absolutely sure, it's that Merlin’s impossible to dissuade once his mind’s been made up. Instead, Harry just goes over to a hook near the door to the kitchen, grabs a black-and-white pinstripe apron he'd taken from home and slips his phone into one of the pockets.

It's not until there's a sharp knock at the front door that Harry stops, just having slipped the scones out of the oven. He wipes his hands once more, slips the apron off and onto the hook before going to let Merlin in.

Merlin’s standing outside the glass door, plaid coat belted at his waist and a scarf wrapped firmly around his neck. He's got two takeaway cups in hand and when Harry opens the door he hands one to Harry before stepping in. "Earl grey with one sugar."

Harry warms from the inside at the gesture, ushering Merlin inside. “Thank you.”

Merlin shrugs. “I figured you could use a bit of a caffeine boost.” He looks around, eyes appraising the layout. Harry steps back, closing and locking the door behind him, before looking at Merlin, a small smile on his face as he looks back at Harry.

"What?"

"Well it's very you," Merlin says, walking further into the shop, further surveying. "Leather armchairs are a nice touch."

"They should be, they were a bastard to move in."

Merlin laughs, “You hired someone to move them in, didn't you?”

“Yes, well, I took your advice, hired some - what was it you said? Strapping young lads. They were incredibly efficient,” Harry says, following Merlin as he looks around.

“That's because you baked them something, wasn't it?” Merlin teases, moving between tables and circling around to the counter, where all of the coffee and espresso equipment had already been set up.

Harry shrugs. “I may have made them something, thought it would give them an incentive.”

“I’d move mountains for your chocolate biscuits,” Merlin says, going behind the counter and looking around the space. Neither of them say the truth, that they'd both move mountains for each other regardless. “Have you named the place yet? There's no sign outside yet.”

Harry nods, moving to lean against the counter. " _Bespoke_. The installers are coming in tomorrow morning."

Merlin grins, leaning against the wall to the kitchen. "That is also very you. Harry Hart, owner of perhaps the most posh coffee shop in all of London.”

Harry arches an eyebrow. “I highly doubt that's true.”

“I'm just saying, you’ve named it _Bespoke_. You're right near Savile Row. You may be able to distingui-" Merlin starts, stopping when he takes a deep breath in. His eyes nearly sparkle as they look at Harry for a moment before turning to look towards the kitchen. "Did you bake me something? You _shouldn't_ have."

Harry was about to make a smart retort back but Merlin's already headed towards the kitchen. "Ah, yes, well- I've just taken those out-"

Merlin follows him back like Mr. Pickle once had whenever he'd been busy in the kitchen. Merlin whistles when he sees the kitchen, looking around. "This is a proper kitchen, Harry, nothing like that small place you and I used to bumble around in. I can't wait to see what you make me in here."

"Excuse me, I think I've baked you enough for a lifetime in the ten years we lived together," Harry counters, no true annoyance in his voice.

Merlin hums noncommittally, wandering around the metal table in the middle of the kitchen for a moment before grabbing one of the fresh-baked scones Harry had just pulled out of the oven and chuckling as he runs out of the kitchen, evading Harry's glare.

Harry follows him out, eyebrow raised as Merlin crossed the deep wooden floor and sinks into one of the plush armchairs, leaning back and putting his feet up on the coffee table. "I suppose this is a great way to spend your middle age.”

"And what precisely does that mean?" Harry asks, eyeing Merlin’s shoes briefly, wary that it might scuff.

"That you've been talking about opening this place for nearly two decades and by God, you've finally done it," Merlin replies, matching Harry's raised eyebrow when Harry gives him a withering look. "And God knows I'm going to take advantage of it.“

Harry crosses his arms, nodding towards Merlin's feet. "Your feet. _Off_. I just finished making payments on the furniture, for God's sake.” Merlin huffs and Harry can anticipate what’s going to come next. “And don't roll your eyes at me, you're lucky I've let you see the shop before it's opened.”

"You only let me see it because I didn't give you much choice," Merlin counters. He brings his hand up to his mouth, taking a bite of the scone while resolutely not moving his feet. Harry nearly could have missed the look of absolute delight that flittered over Merlin’s face. "These are fucking _divine_ , Harry."

A smile tugs at the corner of Harry’s mouth. "Don't pretend you weren't excited to see the place. It's lavender and honey, by the way, I was thinking of adding it to the menu."

Harry looks over at the chalkboard placed on one of the tables, a half-written menu written in careful, tidy script. He'd been working all week on perfecting it, ignoring Merlin's pestering, _Haven't you had ages to think about this already?_

He had. He'd had plenty of time, more than he would have liked, but when the moment was actually here - _two_ days from opening - all plans had gone out the window.

He can vaguely hear Merlin saying something, but it takes another good half-minute to focus, Harry's eyes turning back to meet his. "Hmm?"

"I was saying, you'd have to pry them out of my cold dead hands first," Merlin says, smirk at the corner of his mouth. He takes the last bite of the scone, humming appreciatively, before finally taking his feet off the table and standing up in one graceful movement. He pushes the sleeves of his jumper up, gesturing to the door. “I saw your car on the street, it had boxes piled high. You want help?”

Harry pauses for a moment before shaking his head. "No, I think you're right- I could hire some more strapping young lads. I'll call the same place and get someone to come out tomorrow."

Merlin looks at him, eyebrow raised and looking slightly incredulous. Harry sighs, gesturing for Merlin to go ahead and get out with it.

"When has Harry Hart ever turned down my help?"

"When his dearest and _oldest_ friend looks like he's ready to collapse," Harry starts, smirking when Merlin scowls, "Now now, it's not your fault you're reaching in years."

"You're older than me, you idiot," Merlin says, shaking his head, sitting back down in the chair and his feet back on the table. “And I'm only ready to collapse because I've been doing interviews for CFO. I just want to hire internally but I'm not having any luck right now. That Hesketh kid seriously applied for the position, he's not even twenty-five yet.”

“He's got ambition,” Harry says, sitting in the armchair opposite Merlin only after he's gestured for Merlin to take his feet off the table and Merlin begrudgingly agreed, feet hitting the floor with a thunk.

“He's also a reckless arse, I'm not about to risk the financials of Avalon in the hands of a twenty-four year old hothead,” Merlin says, leaning back in the chair and sighing. “Are you sure you don't have a clone I could just co-opt?”

Harry hums, mouth quirking in a smile. “I'm afraid I'm the only one, which is ultimately probably best for us all.”

“You say that, but Avalon wouldn't be half as successful if it weren't for your leadership,” Merlin says, and Harry’s stomach turns slightly at the praise. Merlin could probably see him squirm, looks over to the half-opened boxes of books, and straightens up. “Lets get these boxes unpacked, then, if you don't need help moving.”

“Aren't you exhausted?”

Merlin shrugs. “I'll sleep when I'm dead. Or when Gwen forces me to nap after I've inevitably snapped at someone. Come on, old man, I'll let you repay me in another of those scones.”

“That sounds like a fine deal to me.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He'd been the CFO of a major corporation, for Christ’s sake, handled multi-million pound mergers without so much as a blink and here he is getting flustered by a man named _Eggsy_. 
> 
> He can practically hear Merlin laughing.

* * *

Harry considered himself a bit of a risk taker, but even he wouldn't have bet that Bespoke would have done as well as it had in the first month.

Maybe it was the proximity to Piccadilly Circus, or Savile Row (“Or you're bloody talented and people are realizing that,” Merlin had interjected one night, long after closing, looking at Harry over his laptop with an exasperated look.) Harry already had hired two employees prior to opening, but had to hire one more after the spike in business left them swamped beyond belief.

And Harry was _happy._

The decision to open earlier was one he made about two weeks in, seeing how many people rushed in for their morning cup before heading off to work and wanting to capitalize on it. He'd open the store by himself, help the trickle of customers before the big morning rush, then hand it off to his more-than capable employees.

It required a quick crash course in drink-making - while well-versed in cocktails, his proficiency in other areas was distinctly lacking - but he paid well enough it wasn't too much of an inconvenience to teach.

It was one of these mornings, only three minutes after opening when Harry was bringing the last tray of pastries in from the kitchen, that the bell above the door rang.

Harry didn't even have time to look up before he heard who had walked in, two pairs of footsteps walking towards the counter.

“Honestly, Rox, fuck him, gettin’ us up at arse o’clock.”

Harry’s eyebrows raise as he looks up and has to use all of his willpower not to let out a hitch of breath when he sees his early customers.

There's a man and a woman, no more than twenty-five, walking towards the counter, not yet looking towards Harry. They've both got thick-rimmed glasses on, and suits that Harry _knows_ must be bespoke, they fit too well.

Harry prays his cheeks haven't blossomed red, setting the tray down and moving to the register, wiping his hands subconsciously on his apron.

“Oh, did he interrupt your beauty sleep?” the woman - Roxanne, Harry assumes, by the nickname the young man had used - teases, looking away from him and towards Harry, giving him a slightly sheepish smile. “Good morning.”

Harry goes to reciprocate and his words get caught up in his throat when the young man looks towards him, eyes shining beneath the glasses. “I- good morning, how can I help you?”

Roxanne looks up at the menu, humming to herself, but the man’s eyes lock with Harry’s for just long enough that Harry knows he's flushed now. “What would y’ recommend?”

Harry clears his throat, looking up at the menu even though he's memorized it by heart, just to have the excuse to break eye contact. “Well, it - I suppose it depends on what you're looking for.”

“Caffeine, and lots o’ it, and ‘m not much of a tea drinker,” he says, and Harry chances a look back at him just to see a teasing smile on his face.

“Well, in that case, we've got a dark roast coffee that will certainly keep you awake,” Harry offers, looking away from him again to the pots of freshly brewed coffee in the window between the counter and kitchen. Harry looks back at the man, who’s got a smile on his lips and nods.

“Sounds ace, can y’ put a shot of espresso in that?”

Harry tries to speak but ends up just nodding, looking quickly to the woman. “And you, ma'am?”

“Roxy, please. And I'll have the same, although without the extra espresso death wish,” she says, rolling her eyes at him with a smile on her face, gesturing to the man beside her.

Harry just nods, entering the orders on the till. “That'll be four pound twenty, please.”  
There's a look between them, before Roxy sighs and pulls out a wallet from her trouser pocket. “You owe me.”

“I know,” the man grins, winking at her, and Harry’s stomach falls a little. It would make sense, really, they're both young and attractive and clearly care for each other. Harry doesn't even realize he's spaced out before he feels a warm touch to his arm. He looks up, following the hand on his arm to the man.

“Mate, y’ alright?”

Harry clears his throat, face flushes in embarrassment. “Yes, I'm terribly sorry,” taking the five pound note offered by Roxy and ignoring the look of concern on her face.

“It’s alright, it’s early,” she says, accepting the change Harry hands her. “Eggsy barely functions even _with_ caffeine.”

“Eggy?”

“Eggsy,” he clarifies, smile on his face like this is most definitely not the first time that had happened. “And you are?”

“Eggsy,” Harry repeats, still stuck on the odd nickname, getting a smile and a laugh in return.

“I think that's my name, bruv,” Eggsy says. “Unless we’re both named Eggsy, which would be fuckin’ sweet but I'm not holdin’ my breath.”

Harry must be bright red. He _must_ be. “I -no, I'm- my name’s Harry. Harry Hart.”

Before he can do anything to further embarrass himself Harry grabs two cups, getting started on the drinks and inwardly sighing in relief at the reprieve he gets from this intensely awkward encounter. He'd been the CFO of a major corporation, for Christ’s sake, handled multi-million pound mergers without so much as a _blink_ and here he is getting flustered by a man named Eggsy.

He can practically hear Merlin laughing.

Harry feels an immense sense of relief when Eggsy and Roxy go back to chatting, because at least the attention is off of him. “I’m jus’ sayin’, it's ridiculous t’ think we can get from our place in Putney to Savile Row in under thirty minutes.”

“We had time to stop for coffee this morning.”

“We’re gonna be late, but damned if I'm goin’ in without some sort of caffeine.”

“He's going to kill us.”

Harry can hear Eggsy scoff, and Harry preoccupies himself with grabbing sleeves for the cups.

“Hey, Harry?” Harry startles out of his silence, nearly dropping one of the sleeves. His fingers fumble and manage to catch it before it slides off to the ground. Taking a deep breath, Harry turns around.

“Yes?”

“Would you mind makin’ a cup o’ chamomile, please? Rox, get y’r wallet out,” Eggsy says, gesturing to her. When Roxy gives him an incredulous look, he just gestures again. “C’mon, we can apologize for bein’ late with tea.”

Roxy sighs, going to fish her wallet out of her pocket, but Harry waves his hand in dismissal. “Don't worry about it, it’s on the house.”

“You don't have to do that,” she says, holding another note in her hand.

Harry shrugs it off, giving her a small smile he means to be reassuring, grabbing an empty teabag and filling it with loose-leaf chamomile. “I know, I don't mind. If you insist on paying somehow, I’d gladly take a kind review spread through word of mouth. I've only opened a month ago.”

Harry pours hot water into the cup, letting it steep, before getting the shot of espresso he'd made and pouring into one of the cups of coffee, labeled in neat cursive, “Eggsy.”

“I ‘preciate it, bruv,” Eggsy says as Harry’s back is turned. Harry hesitates for a moment after putting lids on the three cups, grabbing a paper bag, stamped with his logo on it, and puts three of the croissants he had just baked in it as well before turning around.

“Dark roast, dark roast with espresso, and chamomile,” Harry says, handing the cups over to the pair and resolutely not letting himself be affected by the way Eggsy’s hand brushes against his. Harry then grabs the paper bag, handing it to Roxy, who’s still got a hand empty. “And three croissants, I just pulled them out.”

He can see Roxy open her mouth in protest and holds his hand up to stop her. “Please, don't worry about it. If you find them unsatisfactory, please don't feel obligated to eat them, but I thought you might appreciate something to help keep the jitters away, especially this early and headed into work.”

Roxy looks surprised, but it only lasts for a second before she smiles. Eggsy just smiles, and Harry can't help but notice how blinding it is. “Cheers, Harry. Thanks for ever’thing, we’ll be sure an’ tell the shop to come visit.”

It's only after they've left, slight rush in their step as they turn left outside the shop, that Harry realizes he never asked where they worked.

 

* * *

 

It's not that Harry is hopeful that Eggsy will come in the next morning.

It's definitely not why he comes in at four thirty, baking a cinnamon roll recipe he'd gotten from his grandmother. It's definitely not why he makes sure the cafe is spotless, spending an extra half hour straightening everything. It's definitely not why he spent a ridiculous time in front of the mirror this morning, making sure his hair was perfect and opting to forgo his suit jacket and had worn one of his more flattering button-ups.

And it's definitely not the disappointment when Eggsy doesn't show up at all.

 

* * *

 

 

Eggsy doesn't return the next day. Or the next. Pretty soon, it'd been two weeks and Harry hasn't seen any sign of him. He wonders if he'd done something to offend him, being too eager or too obvious in his eavesdropping Or perhaps the croissants were too bland, or the coffee was watery, or too strong, or maybe it was all just a figment of his imagination, created by a _lonely_ old -

“You're sulking.”

Harry jumps slightly, frowning and glaring at Merlin. He's sitting at a table in the middle of the cafe with his laptop open and briefcase on the floor beside him. It had become a regular occurrence, something that gave both him and Merlin a welcome sense of familiarity now that they weren't working together on a daily basis.

“That's impossible,” Harry replies, crossing the room with a kettle and two mugs in hand. “I have it on good authority Harts are genetically incapable of sulking.”

He hums in appreciation as Harry pours him a cup of tea, before pouring his own. “That's bullshit, you could practically win an award for the amount of sulking you've done.”

Harry huffs, setting the kettle down on the table and taking the seat opposite Merlin. “I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about. I don't sulk.”

Merlin scoffs, closing his laptop lid and grabbing the mug, warming his hands with it. “Of course you don't. What happened? Get a bad review? Did someone insult your baking? Or did you finally realize having Mr. Pickle in your toilet may be a step too far?”

Harry gives Merlin a withering glare and Merlin just laughs, holding up the hand that's not holding his mug in mock surrender. “It's not my fault you're keeping quiet, I have to guess. Are you hitting your midlife crisis?”

“I think I hit that a few months ago when I quit the most stable job I had to open this place,” Harry says, wrapping his own hands around his own mug. “But no, that's not the reason I'm sulking, if I were capable of such a thing.”

“Don't make me hack your security cameras, Hart,” Merlin says. “I'm the one who installed them, you know I can.”

Harry glares at Merlin, taking a sip of tea. He puts down the mug, shrugging and trying to seem unaffected. “There was a young man who came in about a fortnight ago,” Harry admits, bringing the mug to his lips and taking a long sip. “I suppose I found him interesting.”

“Interesting?”

“Interesting,” Harry repeats, grabbing one of the muffins he had put on the table earlier. He takes a bite, chewing carefully, rolling his eyes when he sees Merlin’s grin and swallowing. “Oh, don't start. It's not like I fancy him.”

“Oh no, I daren’t suggest such a thing like that,” Merlin says, the lilt in his voice indicating something close to glee in his voice. “Harry Hart, eternal bachelor, _fancying_ someone?”

“I don't fancy him,” Harry says, setting the mug down to cross his arms over his chest. “How has work been?”

Merlin looks like he might press a little more, but sighs and leans back in the chair, shrugging. “It's been alright, Hesketh is sulking because I didn't give his twenty-four year old greedy arse the position of CFO, but he's too damn ambitious to just go and quit. He knows it's the best job he's gonna get.”

Harry can hear the smugness in his voice, matched by the little smirk on Merlin's face.

“Well, you…” Harry starts, interrupted by the ring of the bell on the door. He sighs, rubbing the spot right above his right eye and feeling the impending migraine coming, when he hears a familiar voice.

“Shit, y’re closed already, huh?”

Harry turns around in his chair quickly, Eggsy standing near the door in a very similar suit to the one he first saw him in, but looking just slightly disheveled, hair falling out of place and a cut crossing over his lip. “I- oh, Eggsy,” he says, heart going a mile a minute in his chest. “I - no, I don't close for another ten minutes, technically,” he says, giving Merlin a brief look before rising up in one fluid movement. “Are you quite alright?”

Eggsy breathes a sigh of relief, giving him an easy smile. “Yeah, ‘m fine. Was jus’ heading home from work, though o’ your place and, well, jus’ started walkin’ here.”

Harry looks at the clock on the wall briefly - it’s just gone past eight-thirty in the evening. “Does your work often keep you late?”

Eggsy grins, shrugging with an easy confidence it had taken Harry thirty years to master. “Yeah, we do lots of late fittings for posh blokes who can’t get off before five,” he says.

“Where do you work?” Harry enquires, ignoring Merlin’s inquisitive look as he goes towards the counter, rolling up his shirtsleeves to the elbow.

“Kingsman, on Savile Row,” Eggsy replies, and Harry just barely misses the appreciative look Eggsy gives him as Harry slips on his apron. “Have you heard of it?”

Harry nods, trying to school his expression to hide the fact that he’d admired Kingsman’s work for years. “Yes, I think I do.”

“That’s not a surprise, considering the fact y’ve got pretty nice suits y’self.”

Harry clears his throat to try and hide his blush. “I - yes, well - working in a corporation for a number of years required a fair amount of formal attire, although I must admit I've never allowed myself the indulgence of a Kingsman suit.” Before Eggsy can ask any questions or make him any more flustered, he continues. “What can I make for you?”

“Well come in sometime, I'll give ya a fittin'. And as for the drink, I'll let y’ pick, I trust y’r judgment,” Eggsy says, smiling. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes, not like it had a few weeks prior. Honestly, he looks exhausted.

“Are you heading home?” Harry asks, resolving not to think about Eggsy giving him a fitting. He can hear Merlin chuckle behind Eggsy and his cheeks flush slightly. Eggsy barely reacts apart from the slight widening of his eyes, which dissipates almost immediately and is replaced with a hint of a smirk. “I just mean, are you going to sleep in the near future? Caffeine would hinder that.”

Eggsy nods in understanding, smirk not leaving his lips. “Right, of course,” he hums, shifting slightly and Harry can see a barely imperceptible wince before he settles. “I prob’ly should sleep sometime soon.”

Eggsy gives Harry a smile, leaving him to work behind the counter. Harry looks up briefly to see Eggsy looking around the shop, settling on Merlin, who’s looking at him curiously. “Alright, guv?”

Harry smirks when Merlin looks surprised, his eyes widening behind his glasses, before he sinks back into his usual unaffected demeanor. “I should ask you the same, you look like shit.”

Eggsy laughs, raising a hand and pushing his hair back to tidy it. “Guess I do. Late nights and all, y’know.”

“And bar fights?” Merlin asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Sparrin’, at the gym, my partner Roxy got the best o’ me.”

Harry's stomach sinks slightly at the words, ‘partner’ ringing in his head. He'd expected it, of course, but now it's been confirmed he feels even more ridiculous for holding any sort of hope.

Harry puts two cups on the counter, pouring the tea into them and fixing them with lids. “Peppermint tea - caffeine-free, the menthol is supposed to aid with stress and anxiety.”

Eggsy turns back to him, raising an eyebrow at the two cups. “Uh, bruv, I think y’ made one too many. Unless one of ‘em is yours?”

Harry shakes his head, picking them both up and putting them in front of Eggsy. “For you and your girlfriend.” The words twist in Harry’s stomach but he's nothing if not gracious.

Eggsy’s brow furrows, and Harry’s stomach drops slightly He'd been so presumptuous, assuming that Eggsy would appreciate a gesture like that. “Who, Rox?” And then he laughs, shaking his head. “Oh, no, mate, y’re sweet, but Rox wouldn’ date me if y’ paid her. Besides, she's more like a sister than anythin’ else.”

Harry’s cheeks are flushed, he just knows it, but he just clears his throat. “I'm sorry about - uh, about-”

“S’okay, you're not the first,” he interrupting, shrugging, “jus’ be glad she didn’ catch you sayin’ that, she liked y’ and all but I guarantee she woulda tore you a new one ‘bout being presumptuous an’ all.”

“And I would have gladly taken it in stride,” Harry responds, turning and grabbing a few of the pastries he had gathered to drop off at the local shelter. “Here, go ahead and take these.”

“Bruv, y’ already gave me enough last time, y’ don't gotta keep..”

“I drop any excess off at a local homeless shelter on my way home each night,” Harry explains, packing them up in a paper bag. “It's no trouble at all, I assure you.”

Eggsy looks hesitant for a second more before a smile tugs at his lips, taking the bag from Harry. “Thanks, guv. Don't beat y’self up too much ‘bout assumin’ with Rox, you're probably not th’ last to either,” he says, pulling out his wallet. “She's got a girl in Berlin, brilliant really. Anyways, she's gonna appreciate this, thanks. How much do I owe y’ for th’ tea?”

“On the house,” Harry says before he can think. “It's - don't worry about it, I've already shut down the till for the day.”

Eggsy arches an eyebrow, looking down at the till as if he doesn't believe him, before opening his wallet and pulling out a twenty pound note. Harry doesn't have time to protest before stuffing it in the tip jar, a satisfied smirk on his face. “Then this is for the great service, Harry. Everyone in the shop’s been ravin’ about you since I told ‘em to come an’ try your stuff. I think y’ve got a few tailors wantin’ to propose already.”

Harry tries to school his expression into a pleasant surprise rather than unchained embarrassment. Since Eggsy had last come in, there'd been a string of other similarly-dressed men and women - several of whom had worn the exact same outfit as Eggsy, down to even the glasses - coming in, often multiple times a week. It had taken all of Harry's willpower not to ask about Eggsy, not wanting to seem too desperate.

“Anyway, thanks bruv,” Eggsy continues, grabbing the two cups firmly and the paper bag grasped as well. “I'm sure I'll be seein’ ya.”

Harry barely even has time to say “goodbye” before the breath is knocked out of him, Eggsy winking at him before walking out of the door.

It's not until the door closes that Merlin whistles, drawing Harry’s attention to him sharply. “ _Oh_ , Harry. You've got it _bad_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for such a positive response so far!
> 
> Please let me know what you think!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eggsy breaks into a grin that might just take Harry’s breath away. “That's real nice of y’, Haz.”
> 
> Harry’s mouth opens to say thanks before he hears the horrendous nickname. He closes it briefly, twisting it briefly in thought, before turning to Roxy. “I do believe I just heard someone talking, but I can't for the life of me figure out to whom they were speaking. Do you know anyone named Haz?”
> 
> Roxy laughs, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear before shaking her head. “Can't say that I do, Harry.”
> 
> “Oh, ha, ha, y’re both hilarious,” Eggsy says, sounding slightly put out. “Here I was, tryin’ to compliment y’, Harry.”
> 
> Harry widens his eyes in mock shock, pointing at himself. “Who, me? Goodness, Eggsy, I never would have guessed.”

Eggsy comes in the next morning, and the next, and the next. Every time, he tells Harry to surprise him and has cash in hand by the time Harry’s made his order and is back at the counter. Harry thinks it’s so Harry won’t give him any more free things, so he slips an extra scone in with Eggsy’s breakfast, or an extra shot of espresso in with his coffee.

Merlin says he spoils him. Harry doesn’t necessarily think he’s wrong, but he still gives Merlin a look all the same.

Pretty soon, Harry’s started a loyalty program, “buy ten drinks get one free,” because Eggsy and Roxy mentioned that it would be a good idea. It ends up giving him more loyal customers as a result, which Harry sees as more of a good side effect but tells Eggsy he was right just to see him smile.

He starts baking things from places Eggsy's said he's visited. Harry’s initially surprised with the amount of traveling that he gets to do as a tailor, but Harry knows full well that Kingsman is highly renowned and he wouldn’t be surprised at all that many of the customers request private fittings at their homes.

Harry makes Baklava after Eggsy recounts a particularly difficult customer in Turkey. Macarons (on his third attempt, he’s not a savant or anything) after Eggsy tells him how much he loved seeing the Eiffel Tower for the first time. Bear claws after Eggsy raved about them after his twenty-four hour turnaround trip to the States.

Finally, Roxy mentions something about the coincidence and Harry, trying to appear as surprised by it as Eggsy appears to be, says he’d be delighted to make things for Roxy as well.

That’s how he ends up making franzbrötchen, miniature tres leches cakes, and tiramisu that Roxy says is better than the one she had while in Treviso.

It’s a compliment that makes Harry’s cheeks pink, thanking her and promising he’ll make it again for her birthday in three months time.

 

* * *

 

 

Before he knows it, it’s the first of December.

Harry’s never been one for celebrating Christmas, per se, but he’s got a soft-spot for the decorations that come along with it. He goes through both his and Merlin’s boxes of decorations and pulls out the fairy lights they've collected over the years, goes to a local craft center to pick up some faux-poinsettias he uses as centerpieces on the tables, and hangs holly from the bookcases.

Harry’s just finished hanging fairy lights on the pastry cases when he hears a knock at the door. Harry’s brow creases, setting down the lights and turning around to see Roxy standing at the door, reusable shopping bag in one hand and a travel mug in the other. She’s standing there in skinny jeans and a soft brown peacoat, hair back in her regular ponytail. She gives him a hopeful smile and he moves to quickly unlock the door to let her in.

“Roxy,” he says, ushering her inside before locking the door again behind her. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I’m sorry I didn’t give you any warning,” she says, her cheeks flushed from the cold. “Neither Eggsy nor I have your number, and I only got in from Hawaii late last night.”

Harry’s stopped being surprised with how much they travel, instead suitably impressed. “It’s quite alright, I don’t mind at all,” he says, extending a hand to take the shopping bag from her. She gives him a grateful smile and hands it over. It’s heavy and Harry resists the urge to peek inside. “Have you switched from working at Kingsman to Ocado? I wasn’t expecting my grocery shipment until tomorrow morning.”

She looks surprised for all of a moment before laughing, shaking her head. “No, no, just - I had a favor to ask, if you aren’t too busy.” She looks around, eyes lingering over the new additions.

Harry shakes his head slightly. “No, I’m not. I’ve just finished, and Hannah should be in within the next half-hour to help open. What can I do for you?”

She looks almost relieved, giving him an easy smile. “No matter what I do, I completely botch my grandmother’s recipe for treacle tart,” she says, gesturing to the bag in Harry’s hand. “I’m taking a day off today to go to Oxford to see her, and I thought you might be able to help me make it? I haven’t seen her in nearly half a year and I’d really love to surprise her.”

Harry raises his eyebrows in surprise, looking briefly into the bag. There’s golden syrup, flour, and probably more butter than necessary. He’s also incredibly flattered that Roxy is asking for his help. While his feelings for her were certainly nothing other than platonic (so were his feelings for Eggsy, really, he kept trying to convince himself), he had grown fond of her too.

“I would love to help,” he says, lifting the bag from where he’d rested it on the floor and gesturing towards the kitchen. “What seemed to be the problem the last time you tried?”

“It's not the recipe, she used it for decades until her Parkinson’s got too bad and she couldn’t hold the tools steady,” Roxy continues, following Harry back to the kitchen. “I can't get the shortcrust right, it always either got too mushy or was far too dry. Thank you, Harry, really.”

“It's not a problem at all, I haven't made treacle tart for quite some time,” Harry says, starting to unpack the shopping bag onto one of the shining silver table in the middle of the kitchen. “You needn't have worried about bringing ingredients, I have more than enough here.”

Roxy waves away his concern, looking around at the kitchen for a moment before grabbing one of the clean bowls on a shelf. “You've given us more than enough, I figured the least I could do was bring my own ingredients.” She sets the bowl on the table, joining the ingredients and scale Harry had already put on the table. Roxy sticks out her other arm towards Harry, travel mug still in hand. “This is for you, by the way. I know you mentioned you liked oolong the last time we were in. I got some loose leaves last time I was in Beijing.”

Harry hesitates for a moment out of surprise before smiling and taking the mug from her, taking a long sip and sighing contently. “Thank you, that's extremely thoughtful. Do you go to China often?”

“Once as a child, and three times since I've worked for Kingsman,” Roxy says, reaching into the front pocket of her jeans and pulling out a folded piece of paper. “I'm one of the few tailors that can speak Mandarin, so they send me over there quite a lot. I'll bring you some more next time.”

Harry smiles, reaching over to give her one of the spare aprons hanging next to the door. “That would be incredibly appreciated.”

She takes the apron at the same time he takes the recipe that she offers. He unfolds it and sees a photocopy of an old recipe card, looping cursive listing out the measurements and steps. “This looks manageable enough. Come, let's wash our hands and we'll make the second-best treacle tart your grandmother has ever tried.”

“Second-best?” Roxy says, sounding mildly amused.

Harry grins, shrugging his shoulders slightly. “Well, obviously nothing could beat her own.”

 

* * *

 

 

Nearly an hour later Roxy’s got flour all over her apron and a smile on her face.

Harry checks the oven briefly before looking over at her. He smiles at how proud she looks as she packs away the last of the ingredients back into her shopping bag. “I’d say ten more minutes should do it.”

“It smells fantastic, I can only imagine how it’ll taste,” Roxy says, straightening up and moving to see the oven herself. “It looks just like when she used to make it, the lattice is even perfect.”

Harry opens his mouth to speak but is interrupted by Hannah, opening the kitchen door with a swing and looking at them with amusement. “Harry, hope I’m not interrupting.”

He shakes his head, brow slightly furrowed. “Not at all, Hannah. Is everything alright?”

“The front hasn’t burned down yet, if that’s what you’re asking,” she says, smirk tugging at her lips. “Eggsy’s just come in, he asked if you were here. Should I terribly disappoint him and tell him you're busy?”

Harry’s cheeks pink slightly and he can feel Roxy looking at him. He shakes his head, straightening his apron subconsciously. “Oh no, that's quite alright, will you show him back here?” he asks, checking the clock on the wall briefly. Eight-thirty, around his usual time. Hannah gives them both a nod and disappears out of the kitchen door.

Harry can hear Eggsy’s voice, “Cheers luv, ‘preciate it,” before the kitchen door swings open and Eggsy walks in. He's wearing a dove grey suit, one that Harry hasn’t seen before but instantly knows that he will become particularly fond of. Eggsy looks legitimately surprised when he sees Roxy standing there, smug look on her face.

“What're you doin’ here, Rox?” he asks. “You said you were visitin’ your nan today.”

“I am,” she replies. “Harry graciously agreed to help me bake my grandmother’s treacle tart recipe, I wanted to surprise her.”

Eggsy breaks into a grin that might just take Harry’s breath away. “That's real nice of y’, Haz.”

Harry’s mouth opens to say thanks before he hears the horrendous nickname. He closes it briefly, twisting it briefly in thought, before turning to Roxy. “I do believe I just heard someone talking, but I can't for the life of me figure out to whom they were speaking. Do you know anyone named Haz?”

Roxy laughs, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear before shaking her head. “Can't say that I do, Harry.”

“Oh, ha, ha, y’re both hilarious,” Eggsy says, sounding slightly put out. “Here I was, tryin’ to compliment y’, Harry.”

Harry widens his eyes in mock shock, pointing at himself. “Who, me? Goodness, Eggsy, I never would have guessed.”

Eggsy rolls his eyes when Roxy giggles more, hand coming to cover her mouth briefly. “Who knew you were a real comedian?”

“Merlin, though he'd never admit it,” Harry replies. He gets a strange look from both Roxy and Eggsy at that, and Harry frowns for a second before he realizes. “Oh, yes, of course. You've never been properly introduced, he prefers to brood when he doesn't have my full attention. Merlin’s the man who’s normally in here around closing, bald and angry and always on his laptop.”

Eggsy and Roxy both look relieved, which is a bit strange, but Harry just reasons it's finally being able to put a name to the face. “Oh, right - his real name’s Merlin?”

“Yes, actually, his mother had a bit of a thing for the legends of King Arthur, Merlin will never let her live it down,” Harry says, smiling more to himself than anything. The timer on the stove beeps and Harry walks over to the stove, turning on the internal light briefly and checking the tart. They’ve caramelized nicely in color and the crust has turned golden brown. He opens the oven, grabbing an oven mitt before pulling the a tart out of the oven and setting them on the table in the middle of the kitchen.

Eggsy takes a step forward and looks over the tarts. “Fuck me,” Eggsy says, and Harry tries not to flush. “Y’ helped make that, Rox?”

Harry doesn't hear her reply but assumes she's nodded or something. “Roxy was instrumental in the execution of these,” he says, checking the others before pulling them out as well.

“I measured the ingredients,” she clarifies. “It was a real pleasure watching Harry bake.”

Harry can swear he hears an almost petulant whine from Eggsy, but it might just be his imagination. He takes the last tart out, surveying them all over the table with a critical eye before pointing at one. “There, that's the best one. I'll package it up for you, Roxy.”

Roxy beams at him. “Thanks, Harry.”

“There's extra?” Eggsy says, looking down at the others on the table. He then looks up at Harry, smile on his face. “Did y’ make extra for me, Harry?”

“Yes, Eggsy, just for you,” Harry deadpans, slight flush on his cheek attributable to the heat in the room and most certainly not the truth behind the words. Roxy laughs and Eggsy perks up, looking at Harry hopefully. “Let me get Roxy going and I'll get you a piece.”

“Forget a piece, I'll take a whole one of ‘em,” he says, “how much?”

“Well,” Harry starts, grabbing two of the foldable boxes with his logo and folding them up. He could charge him the normal rate, or part of it anyway, but he could also do something different. “How about a down payment on a fitting with you?”

Eggsy’s eyes widen slightly and Roxy’s do too before her face slips into an amused look at Eggsy’s reaction. “Y’ what now?”

“Of course, you don't have to, I just have an event to go to, with Merlin, towards New Years,” he says. Avalon’s annual fundraiser was the only chance all year Merlin had to wine and dine potential donors and clients, and Harry had attended with him for the past twenty years. After very little convincing on Merlin’s part, Harry had agreed to attend - truthfully, it was one of his favorite parts of the job. “I need to get a new suit anyways and thought perhaps I'd finally take you up on your offer for a fitting. The tart would only be partial payment for your time, of course.”

“If it tastes as good as it smells y’ can have the suit for free too,” Eggsy says, and Harry blushes at that, because no, that's not how this should work, it'd be far too much. “But in all seriousness, if y’re interested, y’ can come in sometime soon.”

Harry puts the nicest tart in a box for Roxy, tying it off with a simple red bow. Roxy’s eyes light up when he hands it to her. “Thank you, for your help and everything.”

“It was a pleasure,” he says, giving her a kind smile. “If you've ever got anything else you want to try, I shall endeavor to help as best I can.”

She doesn't stop smiling, just holds the box carefully with both hands. “I'll be sure to keep that in mind. I'm going to go visit her now, you should really just follow Eggsy back to the shop, his schedule’s clear all morning.”

Harry sees Eggsy give her an exasperated look in the corner of his eye. “I'll keep that in mind, thank you.”

She smiles and leaves, door chiming out in the shop as she does. Eggsy fidgets a bit besides Harry and Harry turns to Eggsy.

“I saw the look you gave Roxy,” he says, deciding that being direct was the best option. “If you're not interested in the fitting, or if you don't want me coming into Kingsman, I won't.”

“I - what? No!” Eggsy says, shaking his head. “Shit - that look was just surprise, y’know, that you'd actually want me to do it.”

Harry flushes a little, pleased that Eggsy's still interested. He moves to box the second best tart, and the third, before tying the two boxes together. “Then would now be amenable to you? We could drop one of these off with you shop.”

“And th’ other one?”

“That's just for you.”

 

* * *

 

  
Harry leaves the shop in the very capable hands of Hannah. He really should trust her more often, but he'd be lying if he said he didn't worry about being away from the shop for too long, visions of what could go wrong dancing in his head.

With Eggsy, though, he often forgot his anxieties.

Like now for instance. They're both rounding the corner onto Savile Row, Eggsy with tarts in hand after he insisted on taking them. His umbrella rests hanging on the crook of his arm.

“You know, there's no forecast of rain coming up,” Harry says. “You probably needn't carry that around everywhere.”

Eggsy shrugs, looking over at him and giving him a little smile. “What happens if I get caught unawares, then? ’m not bulletproof, I'd need an umbrella.”

“That - makes sense, I suppose,” Harry says after a moment. He smooths his hands over his suit, he's opted for a light grey one today, no tie because they've become more of a liability than anything, accidentally dipped into different batters more times than he can count.

Eggsy walks up the steps to the shop, Harry a step behind. He'd always admired Kingsman’s tailoring, but had never decided to partake in one of their suits because he'd found suitable alternatives elsewhere. He'd been paid well at Avalon, Merlin had made sure of it, but something inside him cringed at the idea of spending as much on suits as he knows they must cost.

Now, however, he supposed he could make an exception.

“Mornin’, Dagonet,” Eggsy says, walking in to the shop and greeting the man at the counter. He gestures to the boxes Eggsy’s holding.

“Are those from that bakery down the street, the one you won't stop…”

“Yes, they are,” Eggsy interrupts, cheeks flushed slightly from the cold, “and this is Harry, the owner. He's come in for a fitting.”

Dagonet looks surprised for a moment before he smiles, sticking out a hand. “Pleasure, Harry. You're quite the talk in the shop.”

Harry’s cheeks color, an embarrassed smile crossing his lips. “I hope only good things are said. Dagonet, isn't that King Arthur’s court jester?”

Dagonet looks simultaneously surprised and aghast. “Yes, it is. My mother had a sense of humor, I suppose.”

“My parents named me Harold Reginald Hart, suppose they thought my initials being ‘HRH’ was amusing enough to excuse the truly horrendous middle name,” Harry offers in goodwill, ignoring the amused look from Eggsy. Harry places the top box on the counter in front of Dagonet. “This is for all of you here.”

Dagonet looks down at the box and through the clear insert in the top and smiles. “Treacle tart? You'll have a hard time convincing me to share with the other employees.”

“By all means, it's yours if you should want it,” Harry says with a smile. Eggsy clears his throat, holding his own box out to Dagonet.

“Would y’ mind keepin’ that from everyone else? Don’ tell ‘em and I'll keep your secret.”

Dagonet just smiles, indicating his agreement with a nod. “Of course, Eggsy. Fitting room one is available.”

Eggsy grins, nodding. “Great, thanks Dagonet.” He turns to Harry, smile on his face. He grabs his glasses, unfolding them and slipping them on. “Come on then, Harry, fittin’ room one’s the only one when y’re poppin’ your Kingsman cherry.”

Harry's grateful he's not carrying anything right now, because he likely would have dropped it all.

 

* * *

 

 

Harry had endured many suit fittings in his time, but none was quite as torturous as this.

Torturous because as loathe as he was to admit it, there was something indescribably alluring about the way Eggsy looked, suit jacket off and sleeves rolled up to the elbow, measuring tape around his neck when he wasn't using it. Torturous because it required being in very close proximity to Eggsy for more time than he was accustomed to. Torturous because if he didn't know better (and he did know better, thank you very much, Eggsy was so out of his league they weren't even playing the same sport), he'd say Eggsy was flirting with him.

Eggsy whips the measuring tape from behind his neck, sliding it off in one fluid movement to take Harry’s inseam. He leans down, smug smirk on his face Harry frankly doesn't believe belongs there, before humming to himself, taking measurements.

Harry clears his throat, biting his lip to stop the sound of surprise when Eggsy looks up at him through his eyelashes. “So, you never mentioned how you got into tailoring?” he asks, wanting to break from the silence in the room.

Eggsy grins up at him, shrugging. “Lots of perks people just don't realize. M’ dad worked ‘ere, apprenticin’ under one of the tailors. He died ‘bout seventeen years ago, but I got approached by the same bloke who recruited m’ dad, y’know, offerin’ me a chance to make a better life for m’self and m’ mum and sister.”

Harry’s silent for a moment, furrow building in between his brows. It's not what he had expected, certainly, when he had asked, but Eggsy doesn't look upset. Just wistful, like these remembering fond memories from long ago. Eggsy looks up at him, must see the way Harry looks concerned, and pats the outside of his thigh briefly. “It's okay, y’ didn' know, an’ I don’ mind talkin’ about ‘im. Mighta done a lot I ain't proud of, but workin’ here more than makes up for it.”

Harry’s mind is still on the feeling of Eggsy’s hand on this thigh, but he tries to soldier through. “That’s extremely mature of you, Eggsy. You're a far better man than me.”

Eggsy scoffs. “Highly doubt that's true, bruv.” Before Harry can protest, Eggsy’s standing up in one fluid movement. “So this event, what's it like?”

“A fundraising event - it’s formal, though not black tie, thank Christ,” Harry says, looking down at Eggsy. “I must admit I don't have any more parameters than that, I’d prefer if you surprised me.”

Eggsy raises an eyebrow. “Y’ sure about that? Y’ haven't seen me out an’ about, I think I look ace but I've been told by Rox an’ such I'm a walkin’ fashion disaster.”

Eggsy looks Harry up and down and Harry tries not to shift under his gaze. “Like you, I trust your judgment.”

Eggsy’s brow furrows for a moment before dawning realization comes over his face. “That’s right, tha’ peppermint tea was amazin’ too. Alright, I got some ideas, I'll talk ‘em over with Dagonet, make sure we got the fabric in. You'll ‘ave to come in for another fittin’ soon.”

“That's more than fine,” Harry says, a smile tugging at his face when he meets Eggsy’s eyes in the mirror. “You know where to find me.”

Eggsy laughs, nodding. “Yeah, I s’pose I do. You ever leave the cafe?”

“Oh, occasionally,” Harry says, slight teasing in his voice. “I've got to sleep sometimes.”

Eggsy gives him a slightly reproachful look, noting down more measurements as he takes them. “Thought y’ might be a vampire or somethin’,” he says, smirking up at Harry. “Though s’pose I’ve seen y’ out in the sun today.” Eggsy’s holding his measuring tape in one hand, lip going in between his teeth. “Gotta take y’r chest an’ neck measurements now, alright?”

Harry just nods, unable to repress the swallow as Eggsy moves towards him, wrapping his arms around Harry to measure his chest. Harry takes one breath, two, resolutely looking forward. He can feel Eggsy close to him, he knows that it doesn't normally take this long to measure the chest, but he revels in the moment. Eggsy lets the measuring tape go slack, before lifting it to wrap around Harry’s neck.

The pressure is something that Harry doesn't expect to bring a flush to his cheeks, but thankfully if Eggsy notices he doesn't say anything. Instead, he just hums a little tune, fingers brushing against Harry’s neck.

“Is that ‘We Could Have Danced All Night’?” Harry asks, Adam’s Apple bobbing slightly when he swallows and chances a look down at Eggsy. Eggsy’s smiling and nods.

“Yeah, one of m’ favorites, I jus’ watched it with Rox an’ my sister last night,” Eggsy says. “Always fancied m’self a bit of an Eliza Doolittle.”

Harry bites back the first thing he's thinking, instead going for something safer. “How old is your sister?”

Eggsy lets the slack go in the measuring tape, smiling up at Harry. “She's nearly two, an’ a total sweetheart. M’ mum works nights so she spends the night with me an’ Rox more often than not.” Eggsy steps over to the table in the corner, noting down the measurements, before looking back at Harry. “Do y’ have any siblings?”

“No, I think I was probably more than enough child for my parents,” Harry says, trying to suppress a smirk. Eggsy matches his expression and laughs.

“I wouldnt’a thought y’d be as difficult as that,” Eggsy says, draping the measuring tape around his neck again. Harry’s stomach twists a little at that, knowing the fitting is coming to an end. “S’pose maybe I should get t’ know y’ better.”

Harry can't stop the look of surprise that comes over his face, nor the pink rising in his cheeks, but he tries his best. “Well, I'm closing early tomorrow, to do some test cooking for a lunch menu I'm working on - if you happen to find yourself available, I would be most amenable to company.”

Eggsy’s smile blinds Harry, and he thinks it over for all of two seconds before nodding. “Sounds ace, Harry, I'll be there.”

Harry’s stomach does somersaults. Merlin was right. He's got it bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took a while! I just finished my studies and the exams were killer. 
> 
> I would love any feedback!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry rounds the corner onto Burlington Gardens and frowns when he sees a man in a truly godawful hooded sweatshirt, gold plates decorating a black background, with admittedly well-fitting jeans and snapback on his head. Harry walks perhaps more briskly than he would otherwise, about to tell the youth off for loitering or that he's closed for the day, when Harry stops in his tracks right beside his shop, the man turning to greet him. 
> 
> It's _Eggsy_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter featured more research into flower meanings and cairn terriers than I ever anticipated.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

Merlin is two things simultaneously: the absolute worst and the absolute best. 

The man had been by his side - and Harry by his - for decades, they had gotten each other through more tough spots than either of them probably would admit, supported each other building Avalon from the ground up. 

Merlin was also incredibly frustrating, refusing to listen to Harry whenever he contradicted him because he was ridiculously stubborn. Their arguments were loud and bombastic and full of hurtful words they both meant but regretted saying. Merlin also, maddeningly, couldn't let things go when he knew they flustered Harry. 

“So you've cancelled lunch plans for tomorrow because you finally got the nerve to ask the lad on a date,” Merlin says, leaning against the kitchen counter as Harry puts on the kettle. “It's only been, what, three months?”

Harry grabs two mugs, setting them on the counter before turning around and being met with an almost gleeful look from Merlin. “It's not a date,” Harry clarifies, crossing his arms across his chest. “He's helping me test out the new lunch menu.”

“You weren't planning a lunch menu when you asked me for lunch yesterday,” Merlin says, giving Harry a knowing look. “You must plan quickly.”

“I just thought…” 

“That the boy wouldn't want to go out with you without some sort of pretense, I know,” Merlin finishes for him, waving the thought away. “That's ridiculous, I've told you what feels like a thousand times.” Merlin grabs the container of English breakfast, doling it out into two mesh tea balls. “What happened to the Harry of the early nineties?”

“I'm quite capable of having a one-night stand,” Harry says, turning around and crossing his arms over his chest. “There's hardly any feelings involved with that. They rather lost their appeal when the last prospect called me _Daddy_.”

There's silence between them for a moment before Merlin laughs, wide smile spreading across his face. “Christ, I’d nearly forgotten about that. Thanks for reminding me, the look on your face, I don't think I've ever seen you so shocked…”

“Yes, yes, thank you for the reminder,” Harry says, a decidedly unamused look crossing his face. He pauses for a moment, color draining slightly from his face, before he continues. “Merlin, what if he…”

“Thinks of you as a father figure?” Merlin finishes again, rolling his eyes. “We've been over this too. You may be old enough to be his father, but I hardly think that he thinks of you like that. He looks at you like you hung the moon.”

Color returns to Harry's face slowly. The kettle clicks off and he grabs it, pouring hot water into the two mugs Merlin had set up. “I suppose I should offer to return the favor, but considering your disdain for relationships…”

“It's a gift enough to me if I don't have to listen to your pining any longer,” Merlin says, giving Harry a teasing smile and raising his mug to clink Harry's. “Now, what are you making for lunch?”

Harry pauses, blush rising slightly in his cheeks as he takes a sip of tea and wincing because he hasn't let it steep long enough. “You know, I haven't the slightest idea.”

 

* * *

 

Harry closes at 11:30, sends Hannah home with enough treats to spoil her children for the weekend. They'd come in a few times to the shop, when her babysitter wasn't available, and Harry would be lying if he said he didn't have a soft spot for them. He'd even bought coloring books, enough crayons to supply a kindergarten classroom, and keeps them under the counter for their visits. 

He swings by the nearest Sainsbury’s, picks up everything he'll need to prepare lunch for two and perhaps getting a little more variety than he would otherwise because he's not entirely sure what Eggsy likes. 

Harry rounds the corner onto Burlington Gardens and frowns when he sees a man in a truly godawful hooded sweatshirt, gold plates decorating a black background, with admittedly well-fitting jeans and snapback on his head. Harry walks perhaps more briskly than he would otherwise, about to tell the youth off for loitering or that he's closed for the day, when Harry stops in his tracks right beside his shop, the man turning to greet him. 

It's _Eggsy_. 

“Harry!” he says, giving him a wide smile and pushing away from where he was leaning. “Thought I missed y’ or somethin’.”

Harry blinks once, looking Eggsy up and down briefly, before shaking his head. “No, you didn't, I just needed to run to get a few things.” Harry frowns, looking down at the watch on his wrist, reading a whole thirty minutes after when he'd told Eggsy to arrive. “My apologies, I'm habitually late but this is a serious transgression, it's freezing out here.”

“It's alright,” Eggsy says, outstretching his hand and gesturing to the bags in Harry’s hand. “Here, let me take ‘em so you can unlock the door.”

Harry hands them over, skin tingling slightly where Eggsy’s skin brushes his. He gives Eggsy a grateful look before he fishes in his trouser pockets, pulling out his keys. He's finding the right key when Eggsy speaks up beside him. 

“Is that a cartoon dog?” Eggsy asks, and Harry frowns, looking up at him. 

“Sorry?”

“On your keys?” Eggsy clarifies, pointing to the [small circular keychain](https://www.zazzle.com/i_love_my_cairn_terrier_keychain-146866569455118229) on Harry’s keys. Harry’s cheeks color slightly and he lets out an embarrassed laugh

“Oh, yes. A birthday present, the year after I got my dog,” Harry says, giving Eggsy a small smile. “Merlin thought it was funny at the time, I don't think he expected me to actually use it.”

Harry unlocks the door and pulls it open, holding it for Eggsy. He follows closely behind before locking the door again behind them. “Y’ have a dog?”

“I did - he died about ten years ago,” Harry explains, and sees Eggsy wince. “He lived a long and prosperous life, though.”

“I've got a pug,” Eggsy offers, setting the shopping bags on the counter before pulling his phone out of his hoodie pocket. He pushes the home button on his phone and shows Harry the background. It's Eggsy, smile lighting up his face and a pug licking his face. “His name’s J.B.”

“Jack Bauer?” Harry asks, smile tugging at his lips when he looks at the photo. He looks up at Eggsy when he doesn't get a response to see Eggsy giving him a wide grin, nodding. 

“Yeah! Everyone thinks it's James Bond, or Jason Bourne,” he says, putting his phone back in his pocket. “I think they're overrated.”

Harry nods in agreement. “I'm inclined to agree, I appreciated the earlier Bonds but have found the new films rather lacking.”

“Does Harry Hart fancy gentlemen spies?” Eggsy asks, and Harry’s eyebrows raise at the way Eggsy has perfectly switched to a frankly remarkable Received Pronunciation. Eggsy grins at Harry’s surprised look, cheeky grin never leaving his face. 

“There's a certain appeal,” Harry admits, cheeks flushed slightly but giving Eggsy an amused look. “But I must admit, I much prefer your natural accent.” He grabs the shopping bags off of the counter and gestures for Eggsy to follow. “I picked up several different things, I wasn't sure what you'd like.”

“Thought y’ had a menu in mind,” Eggsy says, following Harry into the kitchen. Harry sets the bags down on the counter and Eggsy starts unpacking them. It's a gesture that's so small Harry doesn't even realize at first it's what gives him a warm feeling all over. “‘m not one to turn down a well-cooked meal, so I'll trust y’r judgment.”

Harry looks up at him, Eggsy’s eyes shining with such an honest eagerness that Harry's a little taken aback. “You don't need to help, I invited you as a guest.”

“Well, this guest wants t’ help,” Eggsy says, pulling out the last of the groceries from their bags. “I may be useless ‘round a stove, but I've been told I'm killer with a knife.”

 

* * *

 

The first time (not a date, absolutely not a date) goes so well that Harry invites him over again for lunch. Then Eggsy invites him out to a cafe on Savile Row, says he deserves to take a break, and pretty soon they've met at least six times for lunch over the next two weeks. Eggsy only ever stands him up once, texting him a brief apology, _Got held up at work, too much to ask for a raincheck?_ to which Harry quickly responds _Of course not, just let me know when you're free next._

As much as Harry is resolute in admitting they're not dates - “They're really not, Merlin, you and I meet for lunch all the time!” - he’d be naive not to notice the small touches on his arm, lingering gazes lasting a little bit too long, all indicators against reason and sanity that Eggsy may feel similar. 

He probably ruminates over this too much, because on the fifteenth day, Merlin slams his laptop shut and rolls his eyes. “For god’s sake, invite him over to your place then!”

“Pardon?” Harry asks, partially because he wants to see how far he can push Merlin before he gets more annoyed, and partially because he doesn't understand. “Invite him to mine?”

“It's clear the lad has feelings for your old, sorry arse,” Merlin says, leaning back in his chair and giving Harry an annoyed look. “No amount of talking to me about it is going to a damn thing between the two of you. You've done lunch, now do dinner, and cook for the boy.”

Harry’s cheeks tinge slightly at the thought of it. “I don't…”

“Harry, you haven't been this damn apprehensive in nearly as long as I've known you,” Merlin says, sighing and crossing his arms over his chest. 

“Since us, I know,” Harry says, matching Merlin’s posture in the seat across from Merlin’s desk. “I suppose it's a symptom of actually wanting it to be a lasting relationship.”

“Well, it worked for us, though not necessarily how we both perhaps thought it would,” Merlin replies. “And you didn't have a pestering best friend then, willing to kick your arse into gear. You said he was handsy with you in the second fitting…”

Harry scoffs, shaking his head. “I said he was perhaps a little more hands-on than James had been, but James is also nearing ninety..”

“And not completely smitten with you,” Merlin interrupts, giving Harry a look. “Face it, you've been wooing the boy for far too long, it's time you invite him to your house, wine and dine him, and bloody kiss him already, for Christ’s sake.”

Harry’s jaw tenses slightly and he shrinks slightly in his chair. “I don't _woo_.”

“As someone who was once on the other end of your wooing, I disagree,” Merlin says, smirking when Harry glares at him. “Harry, you once sent twelve whole bouquets of flowers to our first office when I told you I had never received flowers before.”

“Everyone should receive flowers at least once,” Harry says, straightening slightly in his chair. 

Merlin rolls his eyes but it's accompanied by a smile on the corners of his lips. “Yes, so buy the lad some damn flowers and take a chance, please, for no other reason than I'm getting gray hair just waiting for you to do something about this.”

Harry sighs, pulling out his phone and navigating to his and Eggsy’s conversations, peppered mainly with brief texts planning the next time they meet. He types out a quick message, _Could I perhaps convince you to join me for dinner at my place tomorrow night?_  

“There we go,” he says, putting his phone back in his pocket. “If he never talks to me again, you owe me a drink.”

Merlin rolls his eyes. “There's the Hart dramatics I've grown accustomed to. If he never talks to you again, I'll buy you an entire pub to drown your sorrows in.”

“I'll take the pub down the street from my home, thank you very…” Harry pauses mid-sentence, his phone vibrating against his leg. “…much.”

Merlin arches an eyebrow, smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Was that a reply?”

“No,” Harry says, mainly just to be contrary, pulling his phone out again and pressing the home button. 

_Yes Harry! I'll bring the wine! <3_

A blush rises in Harry’s cheeks and Merlin lets out a triumphant noise at the look on Harry’s face. “Looks like I'm not buying you a pub after all.”

“I hate you,” Harry says, still looking down at the message. The less than three he'd admittedly only seen once or twice has caused his heart to beat double time. 

“I know,” Merlin says, not sounding at all convinced. 

 

* * *

 

Harry isn't nervous. Really. 

It's definitely not why he leaves the shop in the extremely capable hands of his staff for the whole day for the first time since he opened. It's not why he spends ages going through his recipes, picking things he knows Eggsy likes because he may have been filing his preferences away for later use. And it's most definitely not why he makes sure the entire house is spotless, downstairs toilet door resolutely locked. 

It's not that Harry is ashamed of Mr. Pickles. It's just that he's not sure his taxidermied dog would be conducive to the purpose of the whole night. 

Harry cooks spaghetti bolognese, perhaps not the most glamorous dish, but it's one that he'd heard Eggsy rave about when he'd last traveled to Italy and there was the tiniest bit of Harry that wanted to do one better. He had prepared a tiramisu earlier, put it in the fridge to chill, and heard a solid knock on his door. 

Harry looks up to the clock. _Shit_. 

In his haste to get everything perfect, he'd completely neglected getting himself ready, still in the dark wash jeans and loose fitting t-shirt from university (that very possibly could have been Merlin’s at one point, it was bigger) that he wore when cleaning, fading apron with a half-legible _Kiss the Chef_ written across the chest. He scrambles to take off the apron, hanging it on a hook in the kitchen before hastily running a hand through his hair to fix it as best he can. 

If Mr. Pickles wouldn't have Eggsy running away, Harry’s current state certainly would. 

He opens the door, hoping he can plead ignorance to the time and steal some to get ready, when he's taken aback by the sight at the front door. 

It's Eggsy, in some nice-fitting (and probably Kingsman-made) trousers and a dress shirt, sleeves rolled up to the elbow and the first two buttons undone. He's got a messenger bag across his body, the neck of a wine bottle peeking out from the corner. 

And a small child in his arms. 

Eggsy’s got an apologetic look on his face, but it's quickly replaced by a sort of dawning amusement at Harry’s state. He gives Harry a brief smile before nodding towards the child in his arms. “This is Daisy, m’ little sister?” he says, voice nearly a whisper. “‘m so sorry, Mum’s workin’ and Rox was called away tonight, I don't have no one else I could call and I…” he pauses to shift his weight slightly, arm wrapped firmly around Daisy’s waist. “I tried to call, and text y’, to ask, but y’ didn' answer? So I jus’…”

“It's more than fine,” Harry replies, matching his volume to Eggsy’s and standing aside so he can enter the foyer. He pats his jeans pocket, pulls out his phone that had been on silent and sees about a dozen notifications from Eggsy lighting up his screen. “I apologize for not responding, I've been busy but I should have paid attention.”

Eggsy shrugs his shoulders slightly, eyes wandering around the decorations in the room. “‘S alright, don’ worry ‘bout it. Y’ got a couch or somethin’ I can lay her down on? Took a nap on the cab ride here an’ the longer she sleeps, the better.”

Harry steps towards his living room, gesturing to the couch in the center of the room. “Here, you can lay her in here, and I'll get a blanket for her.”

Eggsy starts to protest that it's okay but Harry’s already moving towards the room, gesturing to the couch again and heading towards a basket piled high with warm-looking fleece blankets. Eggsy moves gingerly, setting her down on the plush couch. “Shh, shh… hey Dais’, it’s okay.”

Harry turns around to see her blinking up at him sleepily, forehead creased and a frown on her face. “‘Ggy?”

“Yeah darlin’, it’s y’ big bruv,” Eggsy says, sitting down beside her and petting her hair gently. Harry stays far enough away, blanket clutched to his chest, not wanting to startle her. “We’re at a friend’s house, ‘kay? Y’ can sleep more…” he looks up towards Harry, smile tugging at his lips and he gestures for him to come closer. “This is Harry, m’ friend.”

Harry moves towards them slowly, a kind smile on his face when he makes eye contact with Daisy. “Well hello there, it's very nice to meet you.”

She looks him up and down with an almost wary eye before looking back at Eggsy. “‘Rry?” 

“Yeah, Dais’, that's close enough,” Eggsy says, an amused tone to his voice. He then looks towards Harry, looking him up and down and it makes Harry realize he's forgotten what horrible clothes he's wearing. 

“I… I'm going to change, um…” Harry says, handing Eggsy the blanket and starting towards the stairs. “Will you be alright?”

Eggsy nods, still petting Daisy’s hair softly, where she's started to drift off against his chest. “‘S alright, though don' change on my account. I gotta admit, I kinda like you all flustered an’ relaxed.”

“I look ridiculous,” Harry says, cheeks flushed as he looks down at himself. 

“You look comfortable, and ain't nothin’ more attractive than that,” Eggsy replies, giving Harry a small smirk. 

Harry bites his lips, looks down at himself again and back at Eggsy, who’s now cradling Daisy against his chest. “Well, I suppose in that case I'll stay like this.”

Eggsy’s smile only widens in approval and he shifts to lay Daisy against the couch and stands up. “Sounds great, Harry. So what're we havin’ for dinner tonight?” 

“Spaghetti bolognese,” Harry says, leading Eggsy into the dining room across the foyer where he's meticulously set the table. He also set up a vase with the bouquet he'd picked up from Victor, a florist that had been a client of Avalon once upon a time. The calla lilies, morning glory, and sunflowers made an eclectic but unique bouquet that Harry thought symbolized Eggsy rather perfectly. “These are for you, by the way,” he says, gesturing to the flowers. “I hope you don't mind, but I went ahead and put them in water.”

Eggsy’s silent for a moment, and Harry chances a glance at him before clearing his throat. “Of course, you don't need to take them, I just thought that perhaps…”

“No one’s bought me flowers before,” Eggsy says, looking between the flowers and Harry in amazement before reaching out and grabbing Harry’s hand in his. Harry’s cheeks flush as he looks down at them, swallowing hard, and Eggsy just squeezes his hand. “Thank y’, Harry, that’s probably the nicest thing anyone’s ever done.”

Harry clears his throat again, giving him a little smile. “Well if that's true, I should be happy to outdo myself every chance I get.”

 

* * *

 

Eggsy says that his bolognese is better than the one he'd had in Italy, which made Harry suitably pleased. They spend the majority of the dinner talking in hushed tones, not wanting to wake Daisy across the hall, and it's rather perfect if Harry’s honest with himself. 

Eggsy tells him about his mum, how she's been working double shifts even though he makes a nice enough salary to support her, especially since Kingsman apparently sets their tailors up with flats. It's yet another fact Harry is surprised to learn about the apparently incredibly luxurious tailoring career. Eggsy tells him about how he'd gotten his mother away from Daisy’s father, how he's scared that his mum may still be seeing him but he's not sure at all how to handle it. He tells him some about his childhood after his father passed, growing up in the estates, but Harry can tell he's skipping over things and doesn't blame him at all. 

In turn, Harry talks some about his childhood, disclosing how difficult it was to realize he was gay in the early seventies, how he'd tried to hide it until he'd met Merlin in university. Harry explains their relationship more, Eggsy laughing as quietly as he can to stories from university and their early years together. He nearly loses it as Harry recounts the time he put hair remover in Merlin’s shampoo in retaliation for hair dye he'd placed in Harry’s, accompanying the story with a grainy picture from one of his many albums. 

“The joke was on me, I suppose - he found that being bald suited him, while I never quite felt the same about the blonde hair.”

Eggsy looks up from the picture, smiling wide. “I had frosted tips in secondary, thought I was gonna be the next big pop star or somethin’. S’pose we've all got phases we'd rather forget.”

Harry's in the middle of picturing Eggsy like that when he hears a small cry from the living room. Both men look in that direction, Eggsy frowning for a moment and standing. “Sorry, d’you mind if I…”

“Oh, please,” Harry says, gesturing towards the doorway. He stands up as well, pushing his chair in behind him. He looks to the table, dirty plates all that's left of the meal. “I'll clean up, you take care of her.”

Eggsy reaches out and squeezes Harry’s forearm quickly in thanks before walking briskly out of the room, calling out. “It's okay, Dais’, ‘m here.” 

Harry gathers up the plates and their wine glasses, carrying them to the sink. He starts to soak the pots and pans he'd used in cooking, humming low under his breath. He can hear Eggsy talking to his sister but tries not to focus on it, feeling like he'd be eavesdropping. Instead, he focuses just on the dull hum of Eggsy’s voice, the warmness spreading throughout his body just at the thought that he's not _alone_ here. 

Harry's not lonely, per se, but the reality of the first honest-to-goodness feelings he'd felt towards another person since the early nineties has finally settled in fully and Harry would be lying if he wasn't a little terrified of the whole affair. He's hesitant to make more of it than it is, pushing back thoughts of _You're far too old for him_ and _He could do leagues better_ and just focuses on the reality that even if Eggsy doesn't feel the same, he's grateful for the companionship. 

Harry’s so deep into his thoughts that he doesn't realize that Eggsy’s walked up behind him until Eggsy clears his throat, making Harry jump and splash himself with water. 

At least it's a shirt he doesn't mind getting dirty. 

Harry turns, seeing Eggsy with Daisy on his hip. She's awake, arms wrapped around Eggsy and head leaning against Eggsy, peeking up at Harry through her bangs. “Sorry, didn’ mean to startle y’.”

“You didn't,” Harry says, despite the fact that he very clearly jumped when Eggsy approached him and has the splashes on his shirt to prove it. Eggsy arches an eyebrow, smirking slightly and nodding as if to say ‘Sure I didn't.’ “Is Daisy okay?”

Eggsy nods, looking down at her and kissing the top of her head in a gesture that warms Harry’s heart. “She jus’ got scared, I guess, then realized she was hungry, but she don’ want any of the snacks I brought her.”

Harry frowns, looking from Daisy to the small Tupperware he had just filled with the extra pasta and bolognese. He looks back to Eggsy and gives him a small smile. “If I were to cut up some of the pasta, would she like some of the spaghetti bolognese as well?”

“Y’ don’ have to…”

“If she doesn't want it, it's more than okay, I'm sure we could find something else in my pantry,” Harry starts, gesturing to the closed double doors on the other end of the kitchen. “I just thought it's only right your sister be treated to… what was it? The best spagbol in the entire world.”

Eggsy rolls his eyes but he's smiling. “Y’re never gonna let me live that down, I know it.” Harry shrugs and gives Eggsy a smile, looking down at Daisy who is looking at him curiously. “What do you say, Miss Daisy? Would you like some spaghetti?” 

She lifts her head, looking at him and then looking to the container on the counter. She looks back at Eggsy, blinking up at him. “Getti?” 

“Yeah babe, want some? Eggsy says, giving her a little smile. “It's real good, y’r big bruv loved it!” 

She bites her lip for a minute before nodding, snuggling against him. He gives her a quick kiss to her forehead, looking up at Harry. “Thanks, Harry, I can…”

“Why don't you sit with her at the table, I'll prepare everything,” Harry says. “I have some apple juice, would you like that too, Miss Daisy?” 

She lights up at that, looking up at Harry and nodding. He gives her a kind smile and looks up at Eggsy, who looks at Harry with such an open fondness that Harry's a little taken aback by it. “Thank y’, so much.”

Harry waves the thanks off with a smile, watching as Eggsy carries Daisy into the dining room, talking to her in hushed tones. He takes the food out of the container, grabs a knife and cuts the spaghetti into smaller bites, putting it on a small plate with a fork. He grabs one of his travel mugs and a straw to fashion a kind of makeshift sippy cup, pouring apple juice he has left into it. 

Harry's struck with how domestic this is, something he was very nearly convinced would never happen in his lifetime. It warms his heart even more when he brings the plate and cup into the dining room and Daisy gives him a wide grin, eyes crinkling at the edges.

“‘Arry!” she says, making grabby hands towards the plate. She's sitting in Eggsy’s lap, his arms loosely looped around her to hold her. He looks up at Harry and grins, thanking Harry as he sets down the plate and drink in front of them. 

“It's quite alright,” Harry says, sitting down in the chair beside them and giving Daisy a smile when she looks at him. “I hope you enjoy it, Daisy.”

She looks at him for a moment before smiling at him, giggling slightly, and making a move for the fork. Eggsy looks at her slightly warily, before looking back at Harry. “She might be messy…”

Harry shrugs, giving him a smile in return. “I'd be quite concerned if she weren't.”

 

* * *

 

Daisy goes to sleep rather quickly after she finishes eating, dozing against Eggsy’s chest until he carries her gently back to the couch. Harry washes the dishes, cleans the table up from the relatively minor mess she’d made. He takes the tiramisu out of the fridge, smiling to himself when he sees how well it's turned out, and grabs some espresso powder for the top. He grabs the sifter when he hears a beep from the other room and  doesn't think anything of it until it's followed by the sound of Eggsy cursing. “Really bruv, now? It's m’ night off!” 

He tries to ignore the twisting in his stomach when he hears Eggsy sigh. “Alright, alright, I gotcha.” Or when he hears Eggsy come up from behind. 

“Harry, I… I just got called away, ‘m sorry,” he explains, and the twisting in his gut turns into his stomach dropping, hand pausing where he'd been sifting the powder. “Rox’s customer is more difficult than she anticipated, an’ they're gonna send me to try an’ smooth things over.”

Harry turns towards him, eyes briefly passing over the clock reading 8:30pm. He tries to ignore the nagging feeling that something is off, instead giving Eggsy a tight smile and nod. “Of course, Eggsy, I understand. Please don’t let me keep you.”

“You ain't keepin’ me, I'd rather be ‘ere,” Eggsy says, looking truly conflicted. “‘M real sorry, but I… I also need…”

“I'll watch Daisy for you,” Harry interrupts, trying to hold the smile in place. “If that's what you're asking.”

Eggsy just nods, body sagging slightly in relief. “I'll text my mum so she'll know, an’ I'll be back to pick her up first thing tomorrow.” 

Harry just nods, shifting slightly in the kitchen. “At least let me make you a plate to go…” he says, gesturing to the tiramisu. “I could make one for Roxy too?”

“No!” Eggsy says, too quickly, and Harry’s cheeks pink slightly in embarrassment. “I just mean, I'm gettin’ on a plane, can’ really take it through security.”

Harry nods again, jaw tensing slightly in a vain attempt to tamper down whatever unpleasant emotion is currently brewing inside him. “Yes, of course. Shall you wake Daisy to let her know you're leaving?”

Eggsy looks hesitant for a moment before shaking his head. “I don’ wanna wake her up, she might never get to sleep. Jus’ tell her that I've gone away but I'll be right back, she took a right shine t’ you after the Bolognese so I don’ think you’ll have any problem.”

There's that strange beeping noise again and Eggsy sighs. “I gotta go, alright?” When Harry gives him a tight smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes, Eggsy groans and rubs a hand nervously over his face. “I… look, I was gonna be smooth, an’ do this all proper, but I ain't got time, so…”

Harry barely has a moment to react before Eggsy’s flush against him, both hands (surprisingly large hands, something Harry can't believe he didn't notice before) cupping his cheeks, lips pressing softly against his. Harry lets out a surprised noise, hands fidgeting for a moment at his side before he catches on, hands settling in the small of Eggsy’s back. Eggsy lets out a small laugh, muffled by the kiss, pulling Harry down and closer. His lips are impossibly soft, a sharp contrast to the feeling of Eggsy’s stubble against his skin. It's chaste, as far as kisses go, Eggsy pulling away after only a few moments, but fueled with a passion that makes Harry’s heart beat an erratic staccato.  

“Y’ alright?” Eggsy says, sounding breathless, still sharing the same space as Harry. Harry has not let go of him, relishing how they feel pressed against together. “I didn’ mean to presume..”

“Even if you had, it would have been a quite correct presumption,” Harry says, voice low, and he sees a shiver run through Eggsy. He lets his hands drop slowly, a shy smirk on his lips when he hears Eggsy whine and sees him pout. “If I didn't let you go now, I'm not sure I ever could.”

Eggsy smiles back, eyes glittering with something akin to mischief. “That sound like my kinda promise, Harry.” He gets on his tiptoes, kisses Harry’s cheek softly, before stepping back slightly. “Thanks again, for everythin’.”

Harry shrugs, leaning against the side of the wall to the kitchen briefly and crossing his arms over his chest comfortably because at this point the only alternative is grabbing Eggsy again. “Go save the tailoring world, Eggsy. I'll be here when you get back.”

Eggsy grins, blows him a kiss. Harry grins and makes a motion to grab it, feeling absolutely ridiculous but it makes Eggsy grin, winking at him briefly before turning around, grabbing the messenger bag and umbrella he'd brought with him. 

Harry hears the door open and close, and he sags slightly against the wall he's leaning against, hands going up to touch his lips briefly with a smile on his face. 

If Harry  _did_ woo, he'd call the night a success.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find me on [Twitter](http://www.twitter.com/wishfultales) and [Tumblr](http://wishfultales.tumblr.com)!


	5. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inside the bag is a box. Inside the box is probably the most beautiful pastry Harry’s ever seen. The delicate pastry has browned beautifully and caramelized where sugar has been sprinkled on top. The pastry itself has been rolled and cut into the most amazingly delicate flowers and plaits.
> 
> But it’s not the tart that has Harry’s attention — it’s the note scribbled on the box in tiny, cramped handwriting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m baccccckkkkkkk! 
> 
> I took a brief (okay, year-long) hiatus while I started my career. Now that I’m in a good place, I’ve decided to come back to this story. 
> 
> Hopefully you enjoy!

Harry startles to the sound of his phone ringing.

He groans, wiping the sleep from his eyes and blearily looking at the clock. Seven - seven _thirty_? Oh shit.

Harry scrambles out of the armchair where he had fallen asleep the night before. Daisy is still curled up on the couch, her thumb firmly in her mouth. Harry maneuvers as quickly as he can to the kitchen, where he’d left his phone charging, while trying not to make the floorboards creak.

He half-expects to see Hannah’s name lighting up his phone, checking in on where the hell he is, but instead it’s a name that makes his heart jump. 

_Eggsy_.

He unplugs his phone, finger swiping over to answer the call. There’s a slight delay as he puts the phone to his ear.

“Hello?”

Harry can hear Eggsy sigh, sounding relieved. “H — hey, Harry. Is Daisy alright?”

Harry hums, walking slowly to look into the living room again where the girl is curled up, sucking her thumb subconsciously. “She slept like a dream, didn’t hear a peep from her. Are you heading over?”

“That’s — that’s what I was gon’ talk to y’ about, uh — the mission here, I — helping Rox, y’know what I mean, it’s — it’s taking longer than expected.”

Harry frowns, picking up on how Eggsy sounds rattled, unsure, something he’s so unused to hearing in his voice. “Is everything alright?”

Eggsy laughs quietly at that. “Yeah, yeah, just — I feel bad asking, y’know, but. Could y’ watch Daisy for — at least ‘til tonight.”

“Sure,” Harry says, and the amount that he doesn’t hesitate should speak volumes for how much he’s already fallen for Eggsy. “Do you need me to take her to your mother?” Harry hears a discontented noise come from the other end and extrapolates. “I’m guessing no?” 

“She’s — well, she’s busy, y’know, I think she took a double-shift at work,” Eggsy explains. Harry frowns a little at that, pushing away that little bit of him that doesn’t quite believe him. It’s absolutely not his place to judge, he’s got a near-lifetime of family things he wouldn’t want Eggsy to know, not yet. 

“I’d be happy to watch her,” Harry says, “but would you mind if I took her in to work with me? I’ll keep her safe, of course, but I’ve let half my staff take a break on the weekend so we’ll be short-staffed.”

Eggsy hums in agreement. “‘Course, Harry, jus’ - thanks for watchin’ her, I’ll be back tonight, I— I promise.”

“Of course,” Harry says. “Fly back safe from…” he trails off, hoping to get a little more information. 

“Amsterdam,” he says, and Harry can practically hear the smile in his voice. “I’ll bring y’ back the best damn appeltaart this side of anywhere.”

Harry smiles, the warm feeling he feels spreading through his body. “You know, a kiss would quite suffice.”

He hears Eggsy laugh, a muffled voice after in the background. “That’s — I’ll bring y’ so much more than a kiss, I promise y’ that.”

Harry can’t help but grin, hand coming subconsciously to rub at his chin, the feeling of Eggsy’s phantom fingers there from the night before. “I’m going to hold you to that.”

——

It turns out that letting a two-year old loose in the bakery caused a lot more trouble than he would have expected.

Hannah positively _beamed_ when Harry arrived at the shop, suit forgone in favor of slim-fitting jeans and a sweater, Daisy held to one side propped up against his hip. She pulled out the coloring books Harry had bought for her kids, the deluxe box of crayons she had insisted were _far too much, Harry, they only know like four colors_! 

Harry was grateful when she took Daisy from him, relieved that Daisy only giggled and started playing with Hannah’s hair. Hannah set her up on one of the couches, settling next to her on the couch.

“Harry, croissants are nearly finished, can you wait for the beep?” Hannah calls out, not even looking at him, but he just says back an “of course,” as he ties his apron around his waist. 

By the time that closing time had come around, the area Daisy had been sitting in became a mess, crayons strewn about and coloring pages, ripped from their books, colored not-even-remotely within the lines. There were a few plates, empty save for crumbs, Harry attempting to feed her food he could only best assume would be okay for a two-year-old.

Mainly lots of bread. She took a liking to his croissants, which Harry took as the highest of compliments.

But she got increasingly antsy as time went on, and were it not for Hannah agreeing to stay until closing, he would have been absolutely useless. 

But it was a half-hour past closing and Harry could see Hannah checking her watch every few minutes or so. He cleared his throat from his position around the counter, where he had just cleared the surface and shut down the till. She looks up, giving him a small smile.

“Hannah, you’ve been a lifesaver,” he says, returning the smile. “But you needn’t stay any longer. You’ve got your own babysitter to relieve of her duties.”

“Are you sure you’re going to be okay with her?” Hannah asks, smoothing a hand through Daisy’s hair. The little girl is currently dozing on the couch, curled up against Hannah’s side. “Wasn’t Eggsy supposed to be coming by before now?”

Harry clears his throat, pulling his phone out of the pocket of his apron and trying not to let an uneasy feeling settle in his stomach when he still doesn’t see a single notification. “He should be, I’m sure he was just held up at customs or something - absolutely dreadful, isn’t it?”

Hannah hums, almost disbelievingly, before she gently extricates herself from Daisy and combs through her hair gently one more time. “That boy will be the death of you, Harry.”

Harry goes to open his mouth with a retort — he’d like to think it would be witty — but he’s interrupted by a knock at the door. 

It’s Roxy.

She gives him a small wave, the smile she’s sporting doesn’t quite reach her eyes. Harry maneuvers around the counter and unlocks the door, ushering her inside. 

“Roxanne—” he starts, but stops when she gives him a look. “Roxy, my apologies. To what do I owe the pleasure?” 

“I’ve been sent to fetch Daisy,” she says, smile widening when she sees Daisy snuggling on the couch. Hannah subtly moves to the counter, grabbing her purse. 

“Looks like you’ve been rescued, Harry — see you tomorrow?”

Harry nods and tries not to ask the questions he has, namely Where is Eggsy, until Hannah leaves, bundling her jacket around her. “Is — is Eggsy quite alright?”

Roxy looks up from where she’s settled beside Daisy and nods, giving him another one of those tight-lipped smiles. “He’s back, resting. He doesn’t do half as well with jet lag as I do, so I offered to come get his little flower.”

“That makes sense, I was worried…” he starts, but flushes slightly as he realizes what he was going to follow that up with. ‘ _I was worried he had regretted last night_.’ “Just worried, you know. Old man like me can’t help it.”

She scoffs, wincing as the noise makes Daisy shuffle slightly. “Hardly old, Harry, and that’s besides the point. Eggsy asked me to drop this off with you.” She gestures to the small bag she was carrying when she walked in, dark brown and worn slightly, the faint outline of a stamp pressed against the paper.

“Oh, that’s — thoughtful,” he says, watching as Roxy gathers up Daisy in her arms, murmuring softly to her. She stands, arms wrapped fully around the smaller girl. Harry moves with her, opening up the door for Roxy and watching as she gently steps down the steps to the road. “Let me call you a taxi?”

Just as he says that a black cab pulls up at the curb, it’s light illuminated. “I called one when I first arrived, figured it would take a bit.”

“Oh, right—” Harry says, giving her a smile. “Will you — just, let Eggsy know I hope he recovers quickly.”

“I hope so too,” she says, grinning now as she opens the cab door. “He’s a bloody nightmare when he’s grumpy. Have a good night, Harry.”

“You too, Roxy.”

——

Inside the bag is a box. Inside the box is probably the most beautiful pastry Harry’s ever seen. The delicate pastry has browned beautifully and caramelized where sugar has been sprinkled on top. The pastry itself has been rolled and cut into the most amazingly delicate flowers and plaits.

But it’s not the tart that has Harry’s attention — it’s the note scribbled on the box in tiny, cramped handwriting.

_Even the best appeltaart isn’t as sweet as you. xx_

It disarms Harry enough that he spends a good five minutes just staring at it, as if it was about to jump off of the cardboard. 

It’s probably the sweetest — _no pun intended_ — thing that anyone had ever said to him, and it leaves a warm, fuzzy feeling in his chest. 

If he takes some scissors and painstakingly cuts the box to save the note, well, all the better that there’s no one else to see it.


End file.
